Sent Me An Angel Instead
by Mummyluvr
Summary: The vessel asked for help. Help was given, even if it might not have been in the form he was expecting. He needed to see the light of truth, though, and the only way to do that was to show him the darkness. Dean/Castiel. One-shot.


**Title:** Sent Me An Angel Instead

**Summary:** The vessel asked for help. Help was given, even if it might not have been in the form he was expecting. He needed to see the light of truth, though, and the only way to do that was to show him the darkness. Dean/Castiel. One-shot.

**Rating:** K+

**Warnings:** Dean/Castiel if you squint, and character death

**A/N:** An experiment in POV for me. Title is from "One More Believer" by Bobby Pinson. One of these days I'll post a fan mix, I swear.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show, or the characters, though I might as well, as tuned-in to Kripke's brainwaves as I seem to be lately. You know he's slashing them, too, right?

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Sent Me An Angel Instead

You gaze into the mirror, marveling at the unfamiliar pull of muscles under skin that should seem too tight to contain you. The last vessel was too tight, too small, too lean. This one, however… this one is strong. You can feel his mind fighting against yours, like a tsunami crashing over a town. You're confident in your ability to contain him, at least until the job is done.

_You can't do this to him,_ the vessel says. There's desperation in his voice. You can feel his sadness. It's odd. The last vessel didn't do these things, didn't fight so much, didn't emote. You've never felt a strong sense of sadness, of loss, of worthlessness. You know now why he looked at you that way the first day you met. You know why he didn't answer you.

"You requested my help," you say, and the words sound foreign coming from his mouth. He doesn't speak in this way, with your cadence. He is rougher. He hides behind wit and sarcasm and anger. The innocence you see in the eyes that stare back from the mirror couldn't possibly be his.

_I told you I was stuck. I asked you what to do. I didn't ask to be violated. I didn't want this._

"I gave you a choice," you say. "You couldn't do what needed to be done. Now I will."

_He's not like that._

"So you keep saying."

You look down at your clothing- _his_ clothing- and frown. It's old and worn, fraying and torn with time. It smells funny. The other vessel had nicer clothing, had memories of nicer things, of a house and furniture that actually belonged to him, of beautiful women and handsome men, of expensive restaurants and smiling friends.

"We'll go shopping when we're done," you say. "We'll get you something nice."

_I don't want something nice. I want-_

"You deserve it." And it's the truth. You just wish he could see it.

He is silent in your shared mind, and you worry about him. You always worry about him. He seems so sad, so desperate, so alone.

_What?_ he asks, voice dripping with bitterness. _Are you in love with me, or something?_

You avert your eyes from the mirror, can't look into the familiar orbs that aren't yours, the ones that usually look so hurt. The truth is, you don't know anymore. You know what the answer _should_ be, what it's supposed to be. But you can't deny the need that you feel to take this man and make him whole again, the want to try and fix something that the entire world has seemingly given up on.

_You wanna fix me?_ the vessel demands,_ then stay away from me. I never asked for this._

"You asked-"

_For your help. But not this._ He makes it sound like something disgusting, something unholy.

"We are doing the world a favor," you say, putting as much conviction in his voice as possible. You can sense his anger, his disbelief. You wonder briefly if this is what human emotion always feels like, this constant mixture of love and loss and bitterness. The other vessel was not like this.

_Maybe you should go back to him, then._

"Not until we have finished." You turn from the mirror, from the familiar features and the odd mixture of love and pity that they evoke. The duffle bag is sitting on a chair, sitting where the vessel had left it upon his arrival, before you had even thought of showing up. Before he had asked for your help.

You unzip the bag and begin to dig through it. Already, you can feel the darkness approaching. The vessel tenses as well, sensing it truly for the first time. _What is that?_

"What we are going to stop."

_No. It can't be._

"A slippery slope," you say. You feel his sadness again. "I'm truly sorry." You find the knife, capable of killing any demon, and pull it from its place in the duffle.

_Maybe…_

"There are no more maybes."

He is silent for a long time as you stand in the room, watching the dim light thrown by a nearby lamp glimmer off the deadly blade. You are surprised when something wet slides down your cheek. He's crying.

_Can you stay?_

You hate to disappoint, with your shared cheeks now stained with saltwater, dripping onto his thin clothing, his sadness seeping into your soul. You thought that you could make him believe. You thought that you could give him faith. You did, but in all the wrong things, in things that he could never do, could never have.

"No."

Silence again. Thoughts race through your mind, under the surface. He's trying to hide them, but he can't. He could never hide anything from you. He's plotting. He's manipulative when he wants to be. When he has to be. He'll take advantage of people. He'll take advantage of you.

_I'll stay with you. I'll be with you._

"No." You never thought it could hurt so much to say that word, but it does. You don't even know why. You can't possibly want what he's proposing. It's wrong. It is a sin.

_I can teach you things._

The light glints off the blade, like stars in the heavens. "I can't."

_I'll never leave you._

You go back to the mirror and stare at his reflection, consider. He's desperate now, grasping at straws. He can't be alone again. It's his greatest fear, and you can't possibly be what you claim to be if you're willing to do this to him and walk away. You'll be no better than everyone else. "No."

The darkness grows stronger and another tear slips down your cheek. It's beautiful. It's horrible.

You tuck the knife away and wait, wiping at your eyes, clearing them of excess water.

The door opens and the creature walks in, wearing a smile. "Hey, Dean."

You try to smile back, but it hurts. The darkness rolls off the creature in waves, makes you nauseous. You've almost waited too long. Now that the vessel can sense it, he knows the truth, and you have to stop the tears.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Admiring yourself again?"

You force a laugh. You hope it seems genuine. "Well, there's so much to admire." The response comes easily, rolling off your tongue, supplied by the vessel. It's the right thing to say, exactly what he should say. There can be no suspicion.

The creature laughs. "Yeah. Whatever, man." It turns its back to unpack the bags of take-out it brought with it. Now is your time. The moment of truth. Another tear slips down your cheek as you pull the knife and approach it.

"Sorry, Sammy," the vessel whispers, and you marvel again at his strength as the knife penetrates the creature's spine.

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The End. Thanks for reading.


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